


lost in the blue

by starkoholic



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Blood of Tyrants Spoilers, First Time, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-01 17:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5214146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkoholic/pseuds/starkoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurence finally gets with the program, only for Tharkay to rapidly backpedal and overthink the entire thing for an embarrassingly long amount of time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lost in the blue

**Author's Note:**

> for [mal](http://maximusboltagon.tumblr.com/), who has so kindly dedicated so many fics to me, and now I can finally return the favor, thanks for the beta also burn in hell, she-demon :''')
> 
> (spoilers for book 8!!!!!!)

“I had resolved,” Laurence began, hands clasped behind his back and pointedly avoiding his eyes by keeping his gaze fixed steadily on Tharkay's chin, “to refrain from saying anything until you were more recovered, not wanting to bring you additional stress during your convalescence. But I fear in the upcoming months the opportunity seems unlikely to present itself again.”

Tharkay raised his eyes from where he had been contemplating Avraam Maden’s latest missive and blinked, caught off-guard. Despite the late hour, Laurence’s appearance in his room was not a surprising event, having become commonplace in the days since arriving in Peking. Nor was it unwelcome, as he treasured the man’s steady presence now more than ever, deprived of it for so long as he had been. Tharkay was under no illusion of what he gained from their renewed friendship, but it was not entirely one-sided. He offered Laurence a more simple company than he had access to at the moment—an escape from the formalness of their Chinese hosts, as well as relief from the awkwardness of his fellow aviators, his treason a wound that had been reopened with his brain-fever and recovery. Their easy companionship allowed Laurence to find some shelter from the world and the troubles it inevitably brought. Tharkay was not nearly so grandiose as to presume himself Laurence’s closest human confidante in the world, but he was the best option in their current position, and every line of tension eased from Laurence’s shoulders was a small victory for him.

Therefore came as a surprise to see that tension back on Laurence’s frame in full force, strong enough that the man was nearly vibrating with it; Tharkay’s own back ached in sympathy at the sight. Surely he had not been in such a state when he had left Tharkay’s chambers earlier, for this was not his first visit of the day. He raised a brow, trying to parse the meaning of Laurence’s pronouncement.

Laurence seemed to falter in the face of Tharkay’s silent question, and his eyes dropped from his chin down to somewhere around Tharkay’s clavicle, which he spent several long moments studying with unusual ferocity. Tharkay followed his gaze somewhat self-consciously, yet only saw his undone shirt, left open as buttons tended to give him no small measure of frustration with most of his fingers still in splints. The burns and bruises on his too-thin torso had healed well at least, his skin regaining some of the colour he had lost during the weeks he spent without sun. Laurence had seen him in worse states since his rescue, so why he was now transfixed by Tharkay’s chest was a mystery he did not care to probe further.

“Will?” he prompted carefully, after a few beats of silence passed and Laurence made no move to continue his line of thought.

Laurence startled at that, finally tearing his eyes away from whatever it was he found so fascinating about Tharkay’s bare throat. “Tenzing,” he replied, an odd tone in his voice that Tharkay struggled to place. An uncertain dread crept into the back of his mind.

“Will,” he repeated, even more cautious, setting the letter aside. “If this is a matter of my health, I assure you that despite what the physicians say, I am recovered enough to accompany you to Russia. They are overly leery, and I cannot fault them for that, but I beg you not to treat me like some piece of fragile porcelain. I have come this far, and I wish to see this through with you, if you will have me.”

What he did not say is that he had no intention of being parted from Laurence again, so long as it was within his power.

“Oh!” Laurence looked surprised at this, and his face relaxed. “No, no, of course I—of course I will have you,” he said, ducking his head, smile growing. “Heaven forbid I should try to leave you behind, when clearly I am often so much the worse for your absence. Certainly that is Temeraire’s opinion; he insists that you are not to leave our company again.”

Mollified, Tharkay’s mouth twisted into a smile. “Well, I am glad to have Temeraire’s approval, at least,” he said dryly, although the statement held more truth than he cared to admit.

Laurence’s expression turned contemplative, then, as if he guessed at Tharkay’s sincerity despite his tone. Briefly, Tharkay reminisced on a time when, without effort, his thoughts had been inscrutable to Laurence, even after the veneer of mutual suspicion had been stripped from their relationship. Even after giving the man his first name—an act he had thought never to repeat in his lifetime—he had retained some mystery regarding his motives and actions, or at least the illusion was enough to convince himself that was the case. Idly, he wondered if he should mourn the days when he truly had been beholden to none and of none, as Laurence had once put it, when he had in word and deed been bound only by his own will. Now, he thought with a rueful grin, it was a different will to which he was bound.

Tharkay was brought back to himself as Laurence cleared his throat, breaking the stretch of silence. “Ah, yes, that you do,” Laurence murmured. Tharkay blinked again, trying to recall the topic of conversation, when Laurence looked up, meeting his eyes fully for the first time since he entered the room. “You have my—my approval as well, you must know that, Tenzing.”

The small pause had Tharkay on the verge of blushing, to his perturbation. The strange tone was back in Laurence’s voice, some combination of wonder and affection that he fiercely refused to analyze. The man had lost some eight years of memory, had been through a myriad of hells to get here; for him to be unusually emotional after such a series of events could hardly be considered a surprise.

Too well Tharkay knew the danger of looking for meaning beyond friendship and loyalty in Laurence’s words, having played that game with himself numerous times before. He would not allow their current situation to act as an excuse in slipping back into that pattern; after six years, he was well aware that anything more was outside of Laurence’s power to give.

(No matter what promises he had made to himself—to God, to the whole bloody universe, in truth, whoever was listening—during the delirium of his captivity, resolving to confess all if he could only see William Laurence one last time, he found his reticence too ingrained to break. His miraculous rescue by the man aside, nothing between them had changed. The situation was as it ever was, and Laurence would remain his friend and nothing more.)

That resolve he had so carefully constructed over the years was in danger of crumbling to dust, however, as Laurence closed the distance between them to kneel by his bedside and gently, so gently, took Tharkay’s battered hands in his own.

“Tenzing,” he said, eyes solemn. If Laurence continued to say his name like that, Tharkay thought wildly, he would certainly not be responsible for any actions that might result. “I once said I would be sorrier to lose you than I yet knew. I didn’t know, even then, of the significance of that statement, nor how—how close I would ever be to truly losing you—in every sense.” He made no attempt to hide the emotion in his face, now, meeting Tharkay’s astonished look with sincerity and determination, despite the colour spreading across his cheeks. “The return of my memories made clear that which I had been previously blind to, to my shame. It should not have taken two blows to the head and your near death to bring me to my senses, but I confess I have always been slow on the uptake of these matters, and I beg your forgiveness if I have caused you grief due to the delay.”

“Laurence, I forgive you anything,” Tharkay replied, too confused to feel embarrassment at such a naked sentiment, “but I confess I have no earthly idea what injury you feel you have done me, that should require such an apology.”

In response, Laurence simply lifted Tharkay’s hands and, never breaking eye contact, pressed the softest of kisses above his bandages to the broken skin of his knuckles. Tharkay felt his heart stutter.

“I—Will,” he gasped, freezing in place.

“Please, Tenzing, I know I have been more than blind, and a fool, and certainly I would not fault you for refusing me, after being forced to bring me to my senses more than once now. And I confess, I am ignorant in these matters, as I have never—with another—” here, Laurence’s sensibilities finally managed to overcome him, and he broke off, scarlet to his hairline. To Tharkay's dismay, and despite his clear discomfort, Laurence forged on bravely. “But if not, I—I am willing to try now.” He looked up from under long golden lashes, eyes bright.

Tharkay’s mind blanked, then scattered in a thousand directions. His old armor of cynicism, so carefully constructed during years of self-imposed solitude, was of no use to him in the face of this unlikely confession, having rusted and worn away the longer he associated with Laurence. For a moment, he gave in, taking Laurence's confession as it stood, letting himself believe that Will Laurence’s heart could actually belong to him, that he could be lucky enough to receive such a gift. Laurence, who had torn himself apart and been remade anew again and again, and yet remained the good man Tharkay refused to believe he was through the early days of their acquaintance. Laurence, who had faced seemingly insurmountable obstacles to place himself in the position of rescuing Tharkay, the least of which was his loss of memory that ensured he had no earthly idea of who Tharkay was at the time. Laurence, who—

Tharkay closed his eyes as a sickening realization brought his imaginings to a halt. Laurence, with a fresh head wound on top of his jumbled and still-returning memories, who had not been in his right mind for weeks.

“Will,” he started, the habit of years keeping his tone level, though the heartsickness he felt clawing at the back of his throat threatened to overwhelm him regardless. “Laurence, listen to me. You are still recovering from the brain-fever that robbed you of eight years of memories, to say nothing of the second blow to your skull that has yet to fully heal. Your state of mind is disordered still, and I beg you to hold off any…inadvisable confessions until you are fully in control of your facilities again.”

A low chuckle interrupted him. “If this is a matter of my health, I assure you I have recovered enough to know my mind, better now perhaps than ever before.”

“ _Will_ ,” Tharkay repeated, more urgently this time, pulling his hands free and grasping at Laurence’s arm, before realizing this action brought them into even closer contact. He dropped his hands quickly, a sudden resentment of his current position growing as it made further retreat impossible. “Listen to yourself. This is not your natural inclination. You are still under the effects of the fever, perhaps overwhelmed by the sudden return of your memories and unable to process them clearly enough to realize you are misreading your remembrances of our—relationship.”

“Am I?” Laurence was still smiling, damn him, a wicked tilt to his lips that only reinforced Tharkay’s suspicions of the state of Laurence’s mind. Laurence’s character may have been altered by his experiences since Temeraire came into his life; certainly if the recent loss of his memories had proven anything it was that he is a changed man from the naval captain he once had been—but not so drastically, and not in matters such as this.

“Yes. You are—you _must_ be confused,” Tharkay interrupted, before Laurence could say anything more. He had no illusions of what should happen were he to allow Laurence to continue. Certainly Tharkay did not trust himself not to take advantage of Laurence’s temporary disorientation, even inadvertently. Something so innocuous as offering Laurence his aid in sorting out the tangle of memories that had left him in such a vulnerable position could only yield disastrous results, considering Tharkay’s bias in the matter and the incriminating nature of his own actions, for which he cursed himself now. No, better to absent himself from the situation entirely, and wait for Laurence’s mind to right itself with time and distance. The worst that could come from it now was maybe a few awkward exchanges on both their parts, but their friendship could still be salvaged. Allowing the conversation to progress beyond the already damning territory they had ventured into would only expose Tharkay not just to future heartbreak, but almost certainly a criminal charge. While Laurence might shield Granby out of loyalty and friendship, he could never forgive such a blatant, personal betrayal of his trust once his senses had returned, and would have no such reservations for Tharkay.

However, he could not help but soften his tone at Laurence's hurt look in response to Tharkay's refusal. “You are not an invert, Will,” Tharkay continued. “Sodomy is not a charge that can be leveled at your character. You are still not fully yourself, and have confused your affections. I would not abuse your good nature, or your trust, by allowing you to believe this of yourself, so I beg of you: give yourself time to sort through your memories. You will realize this was a temporary misunderstanding of your own feelings, and—and mine.”

Laurence was quiet at that, a small mercy, as Tharkay was sure he would not be strong enough to reject another advance. It was a craven move, perhaps, to finish his speech with a murmured excuse of exhaustion, relaxing back against the pillows and closing his eyes so he would not have to see Laurence depart, but he was already nearing the last of his resolve. He kept his eyes tightly shut as he heard the door close, straining his ears until he could no longer hear Laurence’s soft footsteps on the polished wood floor, then let out a breath that he could admit to himself was closer to a sob.

Weeks of torture, of clinging to life if only for the near-impossible chance of seeing Laurence once more, imagining what he would say should fate give him an undeserved second go of it, and he could not do it. To find he was still a coward in this, even now, shouldn’t disgust or surprise him as much it does, but he never had an easy time accepting his own failures.

 

~

 

The flaws in his plans of avoidance soon became apparent, the first and foremost obviously being his confinement to his chambers, on physicians’ orders, and more importantly by the slow and painful process of recovery from injury and malnourishment. He wasn’t entirely bedridden, but only just, and exhaustion overtook him too easily for him to stray far from his rooms or the open courtyard outside.

With any chance of a dignified escape gone, his only available route was to use his infirmity to some advantage, a ready excuse to deny any visitors he may have. Not that he had many to begin with, having already relayed all the useful intelligence he had before their return to Peking, but it was really only the one visitor in particular that he needed to keep out.

There was the slim possibility that Laurence had miraculously recovered his senses overnight and, the reality of his confession having registered, would take the initiative to avoid Tharkay on his own, a possibility Tharkay both wished for and dreaded.

Of course, Laurence, as always, was his own unique category of stubborn bastard. The man made an appearance not too long after breakfast, looking quite cheerful and entirely unaware of the stream of profanity Tharkay was silently directing at him. He wore a new flying coat, black leather and dark blue silk, clearly of Chinese make. The comparative minimalism and dearth of gleaming embroidery or gemstones indicated Temeraire’s lack of input in the uniform’s commission, but Laurence still cut quite the elegant figure in it, Tharkay noted as he ran out of curses in English and moved on to Turkish.

Laurence’s smile faltered, and he cleared his throat—Tharkay quickly realized he was close to scowling, and hurriedly schooled his own expression into something more neutral. It was harder than he had thought—as though he were attempting to put on a mask after years of neglect, unused for so long that it no longer fit quite right. Human curses no longer adequate to express his frustration with the situation at hand, Tharkay fell back on several complicated Durzagh expletives that were the unavoidable consequence of his acquaintance with Arkady and his band.

“Temeraire and I have been cleared for a short flight today,” Laurence said, blissfully ignorant of Tharkay’s inner turmoil and the fact that he was currently being compared unfavorably to a diseased goat’s intestine. “He thought—well, rather, we hoped—you might care to join us?”

Tharkay stared at Laurence’s bright, hopeful expression. Not one day ago, he would have accepted without hesitation and been glad for the distraction provided by aimless flight, to say nothing of the temptation of not just Laurence’s company but Temeraire’s as well. But now, his newfound resolve made it an easy thing to reject the offer, even if he had to witness Laurence’s handsome features cloud with disappointment and those broad shoulders slump as he took his leave.

He would understand, and be thankful, once he was fully recovered, Tharkay reminded himself as he watched Laurence and Temeraire take off from the courtyard. In between the string of Durzagh curses he now directed at his own person—much harsher than those he had used for Laurence—Tharkay also had to remind himself to desist in describing Laurence as ‘handsome,’ even within the privacy of his own mind, regardless of how accurate a descriptor it might be.

 

~

 

He had never been one for dreaming, whether in the abstract sense or the literal phenomenon of sleep. The former he deemed detrimental to his protective shell of cynicism and thus was a luxury unallowed, while the latter was simply some quirk of his own nature.  If he ever dreamed, he remembered nothing of them, even as a child; to hear people speak of their own dreams, he often wondered what it would truly be like.

Now, however, he would gladly unlearn all the knowledge on the nature of dreams he had acquired since then, and thought regretfully of all the dreamless nights he had previously taken for granted in his lifetime. During his captivity, he had experienced vivid fever-dreams, hallucinations dredged up from the depths of his mind that taunted him with their apparent reality. When Laurence had finally, miraculously, come to his rescue, Tharkay at first believed him to be yet another of these visions. He thought the hallucinations would cease with his recovery, and certainly they no longer plagued him during his waking hours—but the nights were a different matter.

He woke from yet another night terror, gasping and sweat-soaked, phantom sensations of pain bleeding into the all-too real agony of his still-healing wounds. One last parting gift from his captors, he contemplated with a grim sort of humor, as he dragged himself from bed.

His chambers, despite their airy and spacious design, now felt overly confining, too close to a prison for one used to the open expanse of wilderness. It was still a while before dawn, but he’d had enough practice navigating by moonlight to cross his rooms and slip out into the courtyard beyond, drawn by the need to feel open air on his heated skin.

Tharkay shuffled carefully along the path that wound its way through the gardens, in deference not to the moon’s pale mimicry of daylight but rather to his injuries, as walking still brought him a not insignificant measure of pain. The enclosed courtyard was a poor substitute for an open plain, or a mountain’s summit, or the shifting dunes of a seemingly endless desert, but the glimpse of the night sky allowed him to regain some semblance of calm. Training his eyes on the stars, he could almost imagine the walls of the courtyard falling away, his surroundings no longer a construct of humanity but something wilder, an infinite expanse of nature with himself as the sole representative of his species for miles—

He was unsure of how long he actually stood there, but the quiet tap of footsteps on stone broke his trance; illusion gave way, and he was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was both barefoot and weaponless in an unfamiliar and still potentially hostile place, despite the fall of the conservative faction. But even as he registered this, the sensation of unreality persisted, and a part of him thought he must still be within a dream, as he realised that the figure walking towards him was none other than Laurence.

The calls of nighttime birds, the low buzz of insects, the quiet rush of a nearby fountain—all ambient noise seemed to quiet in that moment as the man in question emerged from behind a blooming magnolia tree; the flowers and his pale features alike unearthly luminous under the light of the waxing moon, the white glow washing out his suntanned skin. His hair, worn loose from its usual short queue, had turned from gold to silver-white. He looked very much as though he had just stepped out of a dream, if Tharkay’s newfound talent for dreaming consisted of such visions rather than vivid nightmares, blood-soaked and terrible.

Still caught in half a trance, Tharkay watched as Laurence approached unawares, the curve of the path and a low-hanging tree bow concealing Tharkay from his sight. He was struck suddenly by the bizarre thought that if he made his presence known, through sound or motion, the vision would shatter and Laurence’s spectre would vanish. The idea—irrational as it was—stilled his tongue and his movements, and he drew further into the shadows as Laurence rounded the bend.

For half a moment, Tharkay thought his presence remained undetected, and Laurence would simply pass him and continue on. He gave a quiet sigh of relief and shifted his position, only realizing his mistake too late as Laurence’s head whipped around at the movement, eyes widening as he met Tharkay’s gaze.

“Tenzing?” Rather than melting away as Tharkay still half-feared him to do, Laurence only became more solid as he approached, no longer an apparition out of a dream but a real, defined presence. “Is something the matter?” he asked, surprised. “I had thought you were in bed.”

“I could ask the same of you,” Tharkay replied dryly, quickly affecting some composure.

Laurence made a face, frustrated, and ran a hand through his loose hair. “I confess, my sleep of late has been restless, and Temeraire worries if I wander too far from his side. I fear he now believes that if he were to leave my sight, there is a chance I will forget him again,” he answered, with a smile not entirely in jest.

“Considering the recent circumstances, his fears are not entirely unfounded,” Tharkay replied, quietly. Laurence tilted his head in resigned acknowledgment of his point, before turning a questioning look at Tharkay.

“But what of you? Why are you awake at such an hour, or—” Laurence’s curious expression turned to one of concerned horror almost comically fast. “Is it your injuries? Are your wounds troubling you? Should I fetch a physician?”

Laurence seemed ready to work himself into a state, and Tharkay nearly forgot himself in the impulse to lay a calming hand on his arm. He remembered just in time to keep his hands still, his tone mild as he said, “Do not trouble yourself, Laurence. I have merely found myself restless as well tonight, and thought a walk might remedy that.”

Laurence relaxed immediately, his frown smoothing out into relief. “Thank Heaven,” he murmured, and Tharkay recalled another moment when that same phrase was uttered, in the arid wilds of New South Wales. Something of his current expression reminded Tharkay of that moment when he had woken the man in the desert to show him a brimming canteen of water. He blinked away the memory, suddenly aware that Laurence has moved closer.

“Tenzing,” Laurence started, tone pitched as if he were trying not to startle a wounded animal. Even as Tharkay bristled at the indignity, he knew he would not— _could_ not—confront it directly, and when he spoke the excuse on his tongue sounded almost natural, as though he truly meant it.

“You must excuse me, Laurence,” he said shortly. “It seems I have overexerted myself, and I believe I should retire before I find myself collapsing on a convenient bench like a drunkard for the staff to find in the morning.” Cowardly, as well, not only to retreat but to play upon Laurence’s sympathies like this. Too late, Tharkay found himself regretting his words, another blow to his pride sustained.

Laurence’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. Tharkay’s relief was short-lived, however, as Laurence stepped even closer and grasped his elbow firmly.

“Will—what—” he sputtered uselessly, his shock at the unexpected touch allowing Laurence to turn and guide him without resistance back down the path towards his rooms.

“I cannot in good conscience leave you on your own in such a state, Tenzing,” Laurence murmured in his ear, voice gentle but firm. It was the greatest feat of strength Tharkay had ever performed to suppress the shudder that threatened to run through him as Laurence’s breath warmed the shell of his ear. “I would be a poor friend indeed to not escort you back to your chambers.”

He couldn’t hide the sudden catch in his breathing as Laurence’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, the touch far more intimate than should be necessary to help a wounded colleague. Laurence’s proximity was like the sun, all blazing heat down Tharkay’s side, enough of a distraction that any protest he could have made died unspoken on his tongue.

All too quickly, they reached his door. Laurence dropped his arm and stepped away, and Tharkay found himself suddenly bereft—and cold, despite the warmth of the night. He swayed forward for a moment, almost tempted to reach out for Laurence, but before he could give into that foolish impulse, Laurence was there, placing his strong hands on Tharkay’s shoulders, steadying him.

Truly, Tharkay had never felt more miserable than he did in that moment under Laurence’s kind gaze. Even after he had slunk out of Istanbul following Sara’s rejection, driven back into the isolation to lick at his wounds, back then he at least had the grim satisfaction of having his lot in life confirmed. A cycle of want and denial, one he had been determined never to fall back into again—but that was before he had journeyed to Macao to deliver orders to one Captain William Laurence. And so here he was again, wanting, hardly able to cling to the comfortable certainty that this, too, would be taken away from him.

Laurence’s gaze softened at whatever he saw in Tharkay’s face, and Tharkay winced. Hopefully he did not appear as wretched as he felt in that moment, but he found the possibility unlikely. He opened his mouth to apologize—although for what he was unsure, anything, perhaps _everything_ —only to be stopped as Laurence leaned in and kissed him.

He gasped, and with his mouth half open the angle was made awkward, but Laurence moved his hand up to grip at Tharkay’s chin, tilting his head as he did so and moving his mouth decisively over Tharkay’s own to compensate. The kiss deepened, Laurence finding the right fit of their mouths and guiding Tharkay to it. He could not help but kiss back, years of desperate longing overwhelming the logic that urged him to put a stop to this immediately. If the Admiralty and all of Parliament burst in right now, it would not be enough to deter him from grasping at Laurence’s waist and hauling him close.

Laurence smiled against his mouth, slowing Tharkay’s movements by moving his hand to cup his jaw. The touch steadied him, even as Laurence slid his tongue in a lazy drag over Tharkay’s bottom lip and drew a startled groan from him.

Laurence pulled back, and this time Tharkay did not resist swaying forwards, one kiss enough to undo all his resolve. Laurence pressed another soft kiss to his mouth and then another, but then, suddenly, he drew back entirely.

“Goodnight, Tenzing,” he whispered. Before Tharkay could pull his scattered wits together enough to respond, Laurence turned and slipped out into the night, leaving Tharkay stunned, breathless, and more than a little aroused.

He managed very little sleep that night, but this time, it was not due to nightmares.

 

~

 

Laurence’s visits did not cease, but he made no mention of his confession or the kiss, to Tharkay’s relief and consternation. In fact, their interactions returned to their previous state with such ease that Tharkay found himself doubting that any deviation from the norm had actually occurred. In the subsequent days, it was only the briefest of moments that reassured Tharkay that the whole series of events had not, in fact, been a prolonged, feverish dream sequence.

At first, he had not registered much difference, so focused on the passionate embraces he and Laurence were _not_ engaging in that he nearly missed the minute yet significant changes their interactions actually had undergone.

Brief touches too frequent to be disregarded as anything but deliberate. The lingering grasp of a hand as Laurence helped Tharkay up onto Temeraire’s back when he finally acquiesced to a brief flight. The careful, almost casual breach of Tharkay’s personal space as Laurence leaned over him to inspect one of the many maps spread on a low table, asking a minor question about their planned route to Moscow, so close that Tharkay felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise at the soft pressure of his breath. Separately, the actions could perhaps be written off as the inevitable consequence of two individuals who associated so frequently in such a close space, but collectively...well. Tharkay had spent nearly seven months aboard a ship with the man and could—and had—count on one hand the number of times they had touched during that span of time.

This was, he repeated to himself, yet another reminder that rather than the result of a realization of his true feelings, Laurence’s behavior was due to lingering effects of a head injury. He was acting on, if not false information on Tharkay’s part, then perhaps a warped interpretation of his own code of honor and obligation, having seen what Tharkay would have preferred to stay hidden. He could not help but a brief moment of immaturity in thinking the whole situation unfair to the extreme.

Unfairness. A complaint he’d resisted making since the angrier days of his youth, and yet one he had felt acutely throughout his life—during those first few years in England, then again when his father died, during and after the lawsuit, then yet again with Sara—sometimes he felt his life consisted of nothing but examples of it.

It was childish, however, to dwell on such thoughts for so long, and to place blame on Laurence for Tharkay’s own discomfort, when the man was still in recovery, would be beyond despicable. Disgusted with himself and his own melodrama, Tharkay resolved anew to endure this, as he has endured all else that came before.

 

~

 

The last of Laurence’s bandages came off with a pronouncement by the physicians that he was fully recovered from his myriad injuries. He and Temeraire celebrated with an excursion beyond the city that lasted most of the morning.

Tharkay had spent the time undergoing his own examination by the physicians. Upon escape, he went off to recover from their grueling scrutiny by dozing against a sun-warmed wall, under one of the numerous flowering trees in the courtyard. He had just managed to drop into his first true sleep in weeks when the low rumble of a dragon’s voice penetrated his conscious.

“Hush dearest, see, Tharkay is sleeping there—you will wake him,” Too late, Laurence’s murmur interrupted Temeraire and Tharkay’s hope of falling back into his dreamless rest were dashed. He didn’t stir, however, too comfortable in the shade of the magnolia to make the effort of informing Laurence that his efforts in attempting to quiet Temeraire were now moot.

The two continued to talk in low murmurs as they approached Tharkay’s resting spot. Tharkay made a valiant attempt not to eavesdrop, although when one half of the conversation involved a twenty-ton dragon, one would have to travel much farther than the courtyard allowed in order to be innocent of that particular sin, no matter Temeraire’s valiant attempt at discretion.

The topic of conversation seemed to center around Laurence's recent memory loss. Temeraire was talking passionately, voice rising once more with emotion.

“You forgot so many things and your behavior was most peculiar as a result, but you still behaved as Laurence, however distraught you were over—over certain events—” Here, there was a soft murmur from Laurence, to soothe the upset in Temeraire’s voice.

When their voices became audible once more, Laurence was saying, “My dear, are you saying that I am behaving unlike myself?”

“Not _unlike_ yourself, just perhaps in a manner less restrained than Tharkay is accustomed to.” At the sound of his name, Tharkay was no longer able to pretend he was doing anything other than eavesdropping on a very private conversation. “Have you ever been so forward in your interactions with him before?”

“Well…” Even with his eyes closed, Tharkay could tell Laurence was blushing. “Never in quite this context…”

“There you have it,” Temeraire said with a satisfied tone. “Tharkay is merely seeing your strange behavior as a result of your brain-fever, not because you are attempting to court him.”

“Temeraire! Please keep your voice down!”

“But Laurence, we are in China, not England, and Mei has informed me it is quite an acceptable practice here—”

“Be that as it may, my dear,” Laurence sounded quite flustered by this piece of information, and Tharkay grinned to himself, having wondered what Laurence would make of the Chinese view on sodomy, should he find out. Laurence cleared his throat, and continued. “Be that as it may, we must practice discretion.”

“Oh, yes, I am not as much a fool as Iskierka,” Temeraire sniffed in disdain. “I would never put you in such a situation as she did with poor Granby—I still do not understand why she was allowed to keep him, when I took so much better care…”

Temeraire’s voice drops into a disgruntled mutter, although this was a gripe that Tharkay had heard numerous times before, and he already knows the trajectory of the complaint. He valiantly attempts to close his ears to the rest of the conversation, but is drawn back in as his name once again makes an appearance.

“Perhaps Tharkay is just overwhelmed by your advances. He has spent such a very long time alone, after all, and is less willing to risk what friendships he does have. He was slow to trust us, as we were him, remember? We are lucky to have made so many friends, but Tharkay has only us, and to lose that would render him very much alone in the world.”

Tharkay felt himself tense involuntarily; he’d had some idea of it, but did not realise he’d been so obvious that Temeraire had him entirely figured out. His breath caught in his throat as he waited for Laurence’s answer.

“That is...quite insightful of you, my dear,” Laurence said, a touch surprised. “And if you of all creatures believe my approach is too strong, then surely I must listen.”

“Thank you, Laurence. Oh! Perhaps to make your intentions even clearer, you might have a set of those handsome robes made for him—although obviously not as splendid as yours, but quite nice ones, with golden embroidery…I’m sure the imperial tailors can take his measurements with discretion, perhaps I ought to inquire—”

“Ah, no, dearest, I think that would confuse the poor man even further—”

“There is also this wonderful trick that Mei showed me, which was quite pleasurable, I am sure it would work for humans as well—”

“Yes, thank you, Temeraire, let us not speak of this anymore!”

Tharkay cracked an eye open just in time to see Laurence practically flee down the garden path, face aflame. He shut his eyes again, left troubled and unsure once again by the conversation.

 

~

 

“I owe you an apology.”

Tharkay glanced up in surprise from the chessboard, where he had been woefully contemplating his utter defeat. The preparations for the journey to Russia had been taken entirely out of their hands, at General Chu’s insistence, so now all they had to do was fill the days between now and their departure. As it was now clear to him that avoiding Laurence was an exercise in futility, Tharkay had resignedly suggested chess as a means to occupy the time, a suggestion he now regretted for numerous reasons.

“I am a gracious loser, Will; you need not apologize for your victory. Unless I have misjudged your character entirely, and you have been cheating me this entire time.”

Laurence laughed at that. “It is revenge, then, for being unable to even bring you to a draw in xianqi, although I still insist you know some secret of the game that you are withholding, and using against me.”

Tharkay scoffed, feigning insult to cover the surge of affection induced by Laurence’s laugh. “I have had enough good grace to admit defeat. Now kindly return the favour without making such outrageous accusations.”

Laurence bowed in apology as best he could while seated, but his grin soon faded into an inscrutable expression. “My victory aside…Tenzing, I have placed you in a terrible position with my actions of late, for which I can only begin to apologize.”

Tharkay swallowed a sudden bitterness in his throat as the words registered. So, Laurence had finally come to his senses, a moment he had been anticipating for weeks—and yet, upon its arrival, he found himself caught in the most unpleasant mixture of relief and sorrow he had ever had the misfortune of feeling.

“Will,” he started, reluctantly.

“No, please, let me finish, so that there may be no further misunderstandings between us,” Laurence interrupted. Tharkay could only nod dumbly—it was better to remove old bandages than to let the wound fester.

“I—I ask your forgiveness for the past few weeks,” Laurence began, fiddling with one of the chess pieces. “I misjudged the situation, and acted with a rashness that was uncharacteristic of me. Your reaction to such a display is entirely within reason; in fact I wonder that you did not simply try to quite literally knock sense into me with another well-timed blow to the head.” He quirked a small smile at that, glancing up at Tharkay before quickly returning his gaze to the carved piece in his hands. “For indulging me, I thank you.”

“It was not indulgence,” Tharkay murmured, unable to stop himself. He, too, was staring at the chess piece in Laurence’s grasp, watching his broad fingers repeatedly turn the token end over end.

Laurence looked up again at that, catching Tharkay’s gaze with his own and holding it. “And yet, I still must thank you. For everything, Tenzing; for being a truer friend than I could dare hope for, given my circumstances and my past transgressions.”

He carefully set the chess piece on the board.

“Tenzing, I never meant to test the limits of that friendship, nor did I intend…” he trailed off, gaze turning distant. “I would never ask of you anything beyond what you are willing—or capable—of giving.” Tharkay swallowed as Laurence met his stare again with a piercing look, spots of colour appearing high on his cheek. “In that same vein, you must know that I would never offer anything beyond my own capabilities, no matter what you perceive my state of mind to be.”

Tharkay frowned. Perhaps Laurence was not quite as recovered as he’d imagined. Unfortunate, since he would prefer not to have this conversation again.

An impatient huff of laughter interrupted this thought. “Pray do not glare at me so, Tenzing. I only mean to say this,” he said, leaning forward, serious once more. “The full recovery of my memories has not altered the sentiments I expressed to you, but instead has merely thrown into perspective how my actions over the past weeks must have seemed. I am asking you to forgive my haste in acting on them, rather than allowing us both time to recover, before—” here, Laurence’s blush increased, “—before I made any overtures towards you.”

Tharkay’s own face warmed at the memory of said overture, recalling the exact feel of Laurence’s lips against his own. But then the rest of Laurence’s words registered, and he closed his eyes with a resigned sigh.

“Tenzing, please, look at me.” Laurence was silent, until Tharkay complied, meeting his eyes with reluctance. Laurence waited for a moment longer, before he said, solemnly, “Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” Tharkay answered, equally somber. That, at least, was a truth he had no shame in admitting.

“And yet you do not trust me in this?”

Tharkay’s temper rose at that. “That is low of you,” he deflected harshly, feeling himself flush.

Laurence’s mouth quirked up in a slight smile. “Perhaps, but it seemed a better option than grabbing you by your shoulders and shaking you until you stopped being so damned stubborn.”

Before he could point out the utter hypocrisy of that charge, Laurence continued. “I did not wish to push the situation to an ultimatum, but if you truly, sincerely feel nothing towards me but friendship and camaraderie, then I will offer you a full apology and desist in my overtures entirely and we will move on from this unfortunate interlude.”

Apprehension dropped into his gut like a lead ball. He opened his mouth, despite having no earthly idea of what to say.

Again, before he could respond, Laurence spoke. “But if you are merely concerned that my health is negatively impacting my perception and that I will at some future point rescind my love—” Tharkay could not help but choke slightly at the word, “—my conscience will not permit me to act as though this were a misunderstanding.” Laurence’s face was too naturally inclined to pleasant humour to remain solemn for long, and he broke out into another smile. “We are both stubborn as mules, Tenzing, as you surely have noticed by now. You once followed me in exile to the other side of the globe—know that I would return the favour to prove my sincerity, should that be necessary.”

“Will, if I fled to the ends of the earth every time you expressed an opinion that brought me discomfort, surely I would have circled the world several times over by now.” His expression betrayed the affected dryness of his tone, for he could not help but smile. Damn the man, but Tharkay’s walls had been mere ruins for a long while now, and his resolve not to expose himself to potential hurt seemed to be nothing more than an automated process, continuing to run out of habit despite having been long rendered obsolete.

“Nevertheless, know that the offer remains.”

Tharkay nodded, unsure how else to respond. To give no less than full measure of loyalty to any man who gives me his, that had been the initial condition of their relationship, had it not? Somehow, this offer held more significance to him than Laurence’s initial confession of love, because Tharkay was nothing if not a contrary creature.

“Will—” he began, only to realize Laurence was standing, ready to take his leave for the night.

“I thought I might give you time to think on this conversation, as I failed to extend you that courtesy last time,” Laurence explained, at Tharkay’s bewildered look.

Instead of responding, Tharkay rose to his feet as well, steadying himself for a moment before rounding the table to stand before Laurence. Uncertainty crossed the other man’s features for just a moment, a minute tensing of his posture, as if he had thought Tharkay was coming to strike him. Tharkay grinned at the thought, before he grasped Laurence by his coat’s lapels and hauled him in to kiss him on the mouth.

Laurence let out a noise as though Tharkay actually _had_ punched him, but Tharkay did not give him the opportunity to retreat, simply drew closer and angled his head to deepen the kiss. Laurence’s arms wrapped around him in response, and to his shame and annoyance, Tharkay was unable to stop a small flinch as fingers brushed against a slow-healing welt across his back. He could feel Laurence attempt to draw back in alarm, expression already creasing with worry and guilt, but now that he had committed himself to this course of action, he would see it through or be damned trying. He tightened his grip on Laurence’s coat and pulled him back in close.

Instead of fighting, Laurence merely smiled into the next kiss, only withdrawing enough to murmur against Tharkay’s mouth, “I take it to mean that you—”

“Yes, yes,” Tharkay said impatiently who, having felt a distinct hardness against his thigh, was now rather disinterested in any further discussion. “You are a bloody fool and I an even bigger one, but _yes_ —”

Laurence did not give him time for further insults, just kissed him again, and again, and again.

“Tharkay,” Laurence murmured in between the press of their lips, before moving down to brush more kisses against the curve of Tharkay’s jaw. “ _Tenzing_ —” He broke off in a gasp as Tharkay’s hands went from clutching at Laurence’s coat to sliding down around his waist, across his lower back, further down until he could grasp—

Tharkay found himself gripped by the waist and turned around until his back was at one of the room's numerous pillars. He grinned up into Laurence’s shocked, reddened face and paid no mind to the dull ache of pain the impact had sent flaring up his back, too busy giving Laurence’s rear another squeeze to care. Indeed, the noise Laurence emitted at the touch—rather like a startled cat—was well worth a mortal wound, never mind the injuries he had already sustained. He dragged his hands down the backs of Laurence’s thighs, then up again over the curve of his arse, partly to see what other sounds he could coax Laurence into making, but mostly for the sensation of all that hard muscle under his hands.

He was rewarded with another gasp, then a startled groan, both of which he swallowed down as he took Laurence’s mouth in another, rougher kiss. Laurence pressed in closer, pinning Tharkay to the pillar with his greater bulk.

This time, he couldn’t contain the gasp of pain as his bruised body again made known its protest at such rough treatment. He made another noise—in frustration, now—as Laurence pulled back again. They stared at each other for a moment, then Tharkay burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Your timing, as always, leaves much to be desired,” he said, still laughing, and Laurence’s frown softened a little, although the worried crease between his eyebrows remained.

“One of the many qualities we both share, unfortunately,” Laurence said in response. “Along with a predilection to haste. Tenzing, you are not fully recovered, perhaps we had better—”

Tharkay cut him off with a sharp look. “While I find your concern admirable, it is quite unnecessary." Still, Laurence frowned, doubtful, and for a moment, Tharkay deeply regretted falling for one of the only men alive who would forgo his own pleasure entirely for the sake of another's well-being. Knowing Laurence, there was a very real possibility that he would refrain from intimacy for the rest of their stay in Peking, and they would lose the opportunity for anything more until Napoleon himself was dead and buried.

Instead of filling him with quite justifiable horror, the thought left him with a warm swell of affection. Yet another confirmation of just how far gone he was for the man in front of him, he thought, somewhat ruefully, as he gently took Laurence’s hand and began leading him towards the bed.

“Tenzing—” Laurence once again seemed on the verge of protest, but Tharkay turned, took Laurence’s face between his hands, and kissed him so deeply that when they finally parted, Laurence was dazed and panting, expression was one of slack-jawed stupor rather than reluctance.

“I trust you with more than I ever thought to give. I trust you with my heart and I trust you with this,” Tharkay said, fierce and low. “Trust me in return—should you cause me discomfort, I will tell you.”

He held Laurence’s gaze, unblinking, until at last Laurence gave a small but firm nod. Tharkay smirked. “Good,” he said, then proceeded to apply himself to divesting Laurence of all his clothing, starting with his neckcloth, broken hands be damned.

Laurence did not protest this plan of action, thankfully, merely raising his chin to allow Tharkay better access to tug at the offending piece of cloth. At last Tharkay pulled it free, and could not resist leaning in to press a wet, open kiss to the newly exposed skin of Laurence’s collar. Laurence gasped and shuddered, wildly clutching at Tharkay’s arms, and Tharkay smiled against his skin, a thrill running through him at Laurence’s expressiveness.

Apparently having grown impatient with Tharkay’s distraction, Laurence took up his abandoned task and shoved his jacket haphazardly off, letting it fall to the floor. Tharkay would have made a cutting remark about this uncharacteristic sloppiness, but Laurence thwarted him, reaching up to cup the back of Tharkay’s head and drawing him in to kiss him once more. Mouth thus occupied, he instead reapplied himself to the act of undressing Laurence.

This proved a more difficult task than he had anticipated, however—his fingers were not yet healed enough to manage the delicate task of undoing the buttons of Laurence’s shirt. He drew back from the kiss, mouth twisting in frustration.

“Wait—let me—” Laurence began, seeing his intent, but Tharkay ignored him, simply grasped the collar in both his hands and _tore_. Buttons flew in every direction.

“Really, Tenzing, was that necessary?” Laurence’s tone was one of mild rebuke, but his eyes were heated, and spots of color had appeared high on his cheeks as he leaned back to tug the tattered remains of his shirt off over his head.

“Entirely,” Tharkay murmured, drawing him back in to hide a smirk in the curve of Laurence’s neck. Laurence’s scoff turned into a soft moan as Tharkay applied his mouth to the now bare expanse of Laurence’s chest. He moved slowly, aimlessly, dragging his lips across Laurence’s collarbone, drawing lazy circles with his tongue against his jaw, fingers brushing against Laurence's nipple—

A queer urge then overcame him as Laurence shuddered violently—he had never been a particularly possessive lover, but now he felt the desire to mark, to claim. He gave into it without much conscious thought, using his teeth and lips until a dark red mark blossomed under the soft skin of Laurence’s neck, low enough that a shirt collar would easily cover it. Underneath his tan, Laurence was naturally fair, a quality that ensured the mark would last for a good while, and the knowledge that he would be walking around days, even weeks from now, with Tharkay’s mark concealed under a pristine neckcloth threatened to fill his chest fit to bursting. He ran his tongue over the mark once more, feeling another tremble run through Laurence’s frame as he did so.

The hand still fisted in his hair tightened. “Bed,” Laurence gasped, sounding more frantic than Tharkay had ever heard him. Tharkay hummed against his skin, feigning indecision, until Laurence’s grip on his hair turned a hair’s breadth short of painful. “ _Tenzing_.”

“Oh, very well,” he began to say, but Laurence had not waited for his assent and had already begun maneuvering them both towards the bed.

Despite the thrum of desire running through both of them, Laurence’s movements were gentle as he drew Tharkay down with him onto the mattress. Tharkay ended up draped atop Laurence with his legs bracketing the other's thighs—a move he suspected was purposeful, as it meant he was putting the least amount of pressure on the worst of his injuries. He could not bring himself to complain, however, as Laurence brought their mouths together to kiss languidly for several minutes. Greedy for every inch of bare skin he could touch, Tharkay ran his broken hands over the width of Laurence’s chest, fingers once again brushing over his hardened nipples, the action sending the same shudder through Laurence's frame as it had before. He repeated it, circling the peaks with his thumbs as Laurence panted and writhed beneath him.

They continued like that for several moments, Laurence retaliating by sliding his hands up underneath Tharkay's shirt, stroking the sensitive curve of his spine, hesitant at first but growing bolder, his hands sliding further down to grasp at Tharkay's hips. Shivers like liquid heat racked his body at the touch. Helplessly, he arched into the touch, inadvertently brushing his hardened cock against Laurence’s own, an act which had them both shaking.

Gasping, Tharkay broke the kiss to meet Laurence’s eyes. He was also short of breath, flushed with arousal, and he answered Tharkay’s silent question with a choked plea. Tharkay needed no further incentive.

Ignoring the flare of pain in his hands, Tharkay hurried to undo the falls of Laurence’s trousers and then his small clothes, working them down his legs, until his thighs and cock were bared. He leaned back to take in the sight, running his tongue over his dry lips at the picture Laurence presented. Shirtless, flushed and panting, with his erection leaking onto his stomach, it was nearly too much, and certainly something Tharkay had been sure he would only ever see in the fantasies he conjured in his weakest moments.

The shout Laurence emitted at the first touch of Tharkay’s tongue to the head of his cock would have been enough to summon at least one servant, even at this late hour, had Tharkay not anticipated it and reached up to place a hand over Laurence’s mouth. Even so, he kept an ear out for the sound of any unwanted visitors as he applied himself to the task. Despite the years since he'd performed this particular act, well, he had always been told he had a skilled tongue.

Laurence was hot and thick, proportional to his size though not so much that Tharkay could not take his whole length. Tharkay swallowed him down with only mild discomfort, prompting another cry from Laurence.

“Oh—oh _Christ_ —” Here, Tharkay was forced to remove this hand from Laurence’s mouth in order to hold both his hips firmly and prevent him from bucking too hard. He let Laurence’s cock slide out of his mouth, then took him back in. He repeated the motion, running his tongue along the underside rhythmically as he did so. This time, Laurence’s cry was mostly silent, merely an exhalation of air. “Please, Tenzing, I— _please_ —”

Tharkay began to move his head more purposefully, trying not to lose himself in the pleasure of the act. It proved more difficult than he had anticipated, as Laurence was, surprisingly, an incredibly expressive partner. As always, the man proved himself to once again defy expectations, Tharkay thought as Laurence let out another broken moan.

His various aches and discomforts became secondary, his focus honing in solely on Laurence’s body and the responses he could wring from it. The loud groans as he worked Laurence’s prick with his hand and mouthed wetly at his balls; the soft gasp as he ran his free hand along the hard muscle of Laurence’s inner thigh; the faint tremble underneath his hands as Laurence got closer to completion. Laurence’s hand clutched at his shoulder in warning, but Tharkay stubbornly ignored it, working him to the edge of his release until he spilled, hot and bitter, into Tharkay’s mouth. He swallowed greedily, sucking and mouthing at his cock until Laurence finally softened and fell back with a gasp.

Laurence’s pleasure now achieved, his own arousal made itself known once more. He ground down desperately against the mattress, and when that proved not enough, he reached a hand down to relieve himself, only to be stopped as Laurence grasped his arms, frantically tugging him upwards.

His coordination was greatly diminished as he drew Tharkay close and artlessly brought their mouths together, but despite his clumsiness, he managed to tug Tharkay’s loose pants down and take his erection in hand. Tharkay gave a small whine of confused protest as Laurence almost immediately let go. Even with the taste of come still clinging to the back of his throat, the fear that Laurence was yet to return to his senses persisted, that this would be where he would draw a line—it was one thing for Tharkay to service him, but for Laurence to reciprocate the favor would be too much—

His dark thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt by Laurence lifting his own hand to his mouth and running his tongue from the base of his palm up to his fingers, so unexpected and erotic that the sight was nearly enough on its own to undo him. As it was, the feel of Laurence's now slick hand returning to his cock erased any doubts he may have had, along with most of his higher brain function, reducing him to a quivering wreck.

As close as Tharkay was to completion it mattered little that Laurence had no experience with men. And certainly, he knew this act, his movements hesitant only for a short while before he was stroking Tharkay boldly. The thought of Laurence touching himself in this way, his own hand wet with saliva—or perhaps some other form of lubrication—rubbing his thumb under the head of his cock in a steady sweeping motion…

Nevermind that he had the man in front of him and his hand on his cock, the image of Will Laurence pleasuring himself was what sent Tharkay over the brink, had him spending over Laurence’s hand almost immediately. He gasped something out—it could have been English, Mandarin, even Durazgh for all he knew—before collapsing onto Laurence in a pile of exhausted limbs.

They lay there together, Tharkay curled into Laurence’s chest and with Laurence’s arm still wrapped around him. A feeling he had not known in a long while blossomed in his chest—unfamiliar enough that he struggled to name it for a moment. _Contentment_. He sighed, and as uncomfortable as it was to lie in his own cooling sweat and ejaculate, in that moment, he would not have moved one inch for nearly anything in the world.

On the other hand, he was not entirely certain he could, as he had perhaps exaggerated the state of his recovery and now felt himself weaker than a newly hatched dragonet.

Tharkay felt his eyelids grow heavy, and he would no doubt have drifted off to the feel of Laurence idly tracing patterns onto his arm, had Laurence not spoken. “What language was that?”

“Hmm...?” Tharkay managed to drag his head up enough to blink slowly in confusion at Laurence, who met his gaze with a surprised laugh. Tharkay frowned.

“It is nothing—it is just—I don’t think I have ever seen you so utterly _relaxed_ , Tenzing,” Laurence chuckled, then pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Tharkay hummed in understanding, his eyes closing once more.

“What language was what?” he mumbled into Laurence’s neck, his typical articulateness having deserted him.

“You said something—maw timmy—timmylai—?”

Tharkay’s eyes snapped open, and he found himself still with enough energy to blush. As clumsy as the words were in Laurence's mouth, he recognized them nonetheless. “Ah—that was—”

Sensing his distress, Laurence quickly interjected. “You are not obligated to explain anything, Tenzing, I merely—”

“म तिमीलाई धेरै मन पराउँछु,” Tharkay said quietly. He looked up, catching Laurence’s eye and holding it. “It is Nepali. My mother tongue.”

Laurence let out a quiet _oh_ , so soft as to be a mere suggestion of a word. “I have never heard you speak it,” he murmured.

“I do not have much occasion to.” Tharkay looked down again, watching his own thumb slowly stroke over Laurence’s chest. “It means—” He stopped short, still unable to say the words in English.

Laurence’s eyes went soft with understanding, and he drew Tharkay close to him in lieu of a reply. Tharkay did not feel lacking for the words yet unspoken; in fact it would have been nearly as alarming as Laurence’s initial confession to hear another in that moment. It was enough, then, to have Laurence here with him, for as long as the world allowed. The realization settled deep within his chest, warm and lasting. To have this man here, to hold and be held—for the first time in his life it seemed—it was enough. He closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't speak Nepali, and from what I understand there are a few different ways to say "I love you." I'm not sure if I went with the right one, if it makes no sense please let me know!!!!!


End file.
